


make the wait worth your while

by karamelised



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Dry Humping, First Time, First Time Topping, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Protective Louis, Protectiveness, ages aren’t specified but it’d be somewhere around 16 and 18, louis in a fight with a classmate, semi-awkward first time sex, tiniest mention of homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-04 06:01:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5323196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karamelised/pseuds/karamelised
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Hey,” Louis says softly, tilting Harry’s head back. He smiles, the anger still visible around his eyes. It’s not directed at Harry, more a bubble of safety around them both, protective and calming. Louis has that look on his face now, the intense one when he really, really wants Harry to listen, to understand, when he waits patiently for Harry to catch up. “Nothing will ever stop us from being friends, okay? <i>Nothing</i>.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	make the wait worth your while

**Author's Note:**

> LouisandHarryandLove, I jumped in as a pinch hitter but I hope you still enjoy what I came up with! Loved your prompts but this one really resonated with me, because what’s more fun than confused, hormonal teenagers bonding together over a shared experience?
> 
> This is also dedicated to the lovely [Nina](http://louisfuckingbeautiful.tumblr.com/), it’s her birthday today since mum is getting old, hah!  
> HAPPY BIRTHDAY DARLING ILY!! Here, have some bottom!louis
> 
> Thank you, thank you, thank you to my lovely beta [Zoë](http://happilysunlight.tumblr.com/) for pointing out stuff in the most awesome way ever, you give amazing feedback and I appreciate it so much <3
> 
> → [tumblr post](http://karamelised.tumblr.com/post/135497765037/make-the-wait-worth-your-while).
> 
> Enjoy!

This isn’t the first time he’s watching Louis pace up and down his room, it’s not even the first time Louis has kept the rant going for more than ten minutes straight.

But up until a few months ago, this would have garnered at least one interruption by now. His mum would knock each time, polite as can be. But she’d never really tried for a proper excuse either, brought in freshly brewed tea the one time, asked if Harry had seen the gardening shears the next. It hadn’t been subtle but Harry understood her reasoning, at least after the sheer embarrassment had faded. And he hadn’t said anything either, hadn’t complained once, even after overhearing her whispered conversation with Mark.

Looking at Louis now, his grass-stained football joggers paired with the beginnings of a stubble, Harry can see where she’s coming from. Older by almost two years, he’s got the sort of brash personality that draws a clear divide between people who adore him and those who really don’t.

His mum’s suddenly strict rules when it came to Louis instead of his other friends are therefore unsurprising. And it’d been rather unfortunate timing when Harry told her he might like boys the same way he likes girls only weeks before Louis walked into his life.

Louis goes to parties and ends up drunkenly texting Harry to sneak downstairs and open the door to let him in. Harry always does, because Louis can’t go home like that and Harry wants him there anyway, just to make sure he’s okay. And his mum doesn’t even know about that but people talk and somehow that seems to be enough.

But Anne also loves him fiercely, not only for being Harry’s best friend, but because in the end, Louis is a decent guy. He loves his sisters to a fault, he treats Harry’s friends with respect, and he is always aware of Harry, in a way no one else ever bothered to be.

The most scandalous thing she found them doing was sit side by side on the floor, shoulders leaning into each other while playing Fifa. And so, slowly, the restrictions have been lifted.

For weeks now, no one has barged in on them, not that they missed much. Usually Harry just sits on his bed and watches Louis pace, talk about football and teachers and boys. Or they lounge on his bed with Louis’ leg swinging against the base obnoxiously, talking about the future.

The plan is for Louis to stick around until Harry finishes sixth form. They even have a list of shitty jobs like flipping burgers or working at the movie theater that Louis has found acceptable while he waits. They’ll apply for uni together, will choose whichever one decides to take them both.

It’s all laced with a certain innocence and his mum had stopped making Louis sleep in the guest bedroom down the hall. He’s allowed into Harry’s room like all his other friends, and if maybe Louis doesn’t sleep on the pull out mattress like them, if he squeezes into bed behind Harry with his cold nose nudging Harry’s nape and an arm carelessly thrown over his middle -- well, she doesn’t have to know everything.

So no, this isn’t the first time Louis shoves into his room without so much as a text beforehand. He keeps reminding Harry he hates all the typing, doesn’t have time for it when he’s going to see Harry in person five minutes later anyway.

It’s also not the first time all of Louis’ ranting is directed at his parents, they are the people he hides from the most. While Louis has always been very open about his sexual preference in front of _Harry_ , he’d also made him swear not to tell anyone else. There’s a strong possibility tonight could have been avoided completely if he’d just sat them down and explained in peace.

Instead, Louis’ mum had skimmed the online version of their school's newspaper just like she always does on a friday afternoon. Louis is a regular feature, even has an entire column dedicated to him ever since Harry joined the paper as a photographer. Because Harry’ had found himself with an entire SD card full of pictures almost exclusively of Louis. Louis mid-kick with the ball just skirting the edges of the photo, Louis cheering after a goal, Louis walking back to the locker room with his shirt in his hand -- like a footie game doesn’t offer twenty-one other players.

In some ways it’s Harry’s fault the entire thing escalated. Because Richard tripped _him_ during lunch break and what with still trying to figure out his limbs after the last growth spurt, he went crashing side first into the wall. It resulted in a very painful dislocated shoulder for him which got set in the nurse's office minutes later, the loud pop followed by the immediate disappearance of pain. Several people tried prying Louis from his side that day. He wouldn’t budge, got downright aggressive to anyone approaching them, his hand clammy but firm in Harry’s uninjured one the entire time.

And by the end of the school day Louis sought out Richard -- a good head taller and twice as wide -- and punched him without warning. Richard didn’t see the first blow coming, maybe not even the second or third. By then he’d clutched his throat, because Louis fought dirty and aimed for places that primarily hurt Richard instead of his knuckles.

Harry had shuffled between them, hurt arm still wrapped in a sling held out like a flag of peace. He’d grabbed Louis’ hand and dragged him away and Louis just... let him. He did turn around mid step though, eyes fixated on Richard as he said, low and menacing, “if he’s ever hurt because of you again, you’ll eat out of a straw for fucking _months_.”

Harry just kept pulling Louis along, just wanted it all to stop. But that after-school fight had garnered a crowd with more than one camera at the ready. And maybe he should have stopped that from happening too, because Louis certainly wasn’t in the headspace to. But how could he, when Richard had managed to land a blow and Louis’ nose was bleeding profusely, staining his white school shirt pink, tie ripped from the scuffle.

And that's the exact moment the picture was taken. Right when he’s leaning in close and cradling Louis’ face, looking at him like -- well.

The headline reads _‘Romeo and Julian - true 21st century romance’_ and, just to make sure everyone and their grandma doesn’t miss it it’s this week’s leading story.

They must have had a good chuckle in the tiny room off the library, where the editor’s club holds their weekly meetings. The only reason Harry didn’t know about it, didn’t stop them from running it was because he hadn’t been there. He’d excused himself in favour of inviting Louis over, very pointedly not talking about the purpling bruise under his left eye and the swelling to his right hand.

The article itself isn’t even all that bad, states that the two of them _could_ be dating, which, fair enough. The photo, on the other hand, is something else entirely.

The screen from the tablet he’s clutching has dimmed and he nudges it, feels like he’s picking at a sore because this isn’t like any of the photos of them published before.

There’s the lingering anger in Louis’ eyes coupled with the gentle way he’s cradling Harry’s arm protectively. The worried look on his own face, the way he’s biting his lip while peering at Louis intently. Their _hips_ \-- Harry scrunches his eyes closed but it doesn’t help. He can still see the afterimage, see the way their hips are pressed together, touching from knees to navel.

It had felt comforting at the time, had felt right. Now, it just looks painfully intimate.

And that’s his fault too, isn’t it? Because somewhere during their friendship, Harry messed up. Has let the little buds of admiration bloom into something bigger, with more pull to it, something strong enough to tear them down. And he’s breath-catchingly, heart-achingly afraid of it. Because he doesn’t ever want to live without Louis in his life, yet knows he won’tif he destroys what they have now.

He flinches when Louis talks again, had been daydreaming instead of listening. Usually Louis laughs at him for zoning out, snaps his fingers and tells him to catch up. If he’s in one of his moods he’ll complain about the creepy staring, though Harry doesn’t think he’s caught on to the reason behind that. He’s just thankful Louis can’t read his mind.

“I am not dealing with homophobia from my own parents. I will _not_ let that define my life. Fuck that,” Louis spits and Harry knows he means it. It’s one of the many things he loves about his best friend; the strength of his belief, the way he can see life in black and white while Harry seems cursed with various shades of boring grey. There’s a whole lot of other things he loves about Louis, things they don’t talk about even though the words have been burning holes into his tongue, tickling his throat, demanding to be said.

Louis levels an indignant gaze at him, still in full-blown diatribe mode. “And they should just _try_ to change my mind!”

Harry looks down at his hands, sets the tablet aside and flexes his cramping fingers. “They’ll want us to stop being friends.”

That stops Louis in his frantic pacing, sucking in a loud breath. And then he’s climbing on the bed until they’re face-to-face, close like in that thrice-damned picture. They’re always touching, always close and it never feels awkward or weird, not unless Harry makes it so, with his mind that’s never satisfied, wants _more_ , gives him ideas he doesn’t know how to turn into reality. Like right now when he wants to cradle Louis’ jaw, wants to feel it move against his palm while he talks.

He’s staring again, at Louis’ mouth of all things. That’s always the most dangerous because it’s times like these when his mind drifts more quickly. And before he knows it he’s licking his own lips just thinking about it.

There’s so many things he wants to do to Louis’ lips, it makes his own tingle in sympathy. And not all of those things involve kissing, either; things he’s never done before, only heard his friends whisper about. There’s also other ideas, urges he’s never heard _anyone_ talking about and that scares him sometimes, feelings of shame welling up because he _loves_ Louis, he really does, yet listing those things no one would believe it.

“Hey,” Louis says softly, tilting Harry’s head back. He smiles, the anger still visible around his eyes. It’s not directed at Harry _,_ more a bubble of safety around them _both_ , protective and calming. Louis has that look on his face now, the intense one when he really, really wants Harry to listen, to understand, when he waits patiently for Harry to catch up with what’s happening. “Nothing will ever stop us from being friends, okay? _Nothing._ ”

Harry is caught in his gaze, in the depth of his eyes, the fierce loyalty shining back. And suddenly all the feelings he’s been bottling up for weeks, months, they’re all too much. Because there _is_ something that can come between them, something that Harry has been fighting forever now, trying to keep contained like a handful of sand in a storm. And maybe it’s the weeks of lying to his best friend, the weeks of looking at Louis and imagining leaning in, fantasies so vivid and real Harry gets tongue-tied in fear of slipping up.

Maybe it was the look on Louis’ face when he told Harry about his parents’ reaction to the picture tonight. Maybe it’s because Louis came over to rant and complain but he’s already asked about Harry’s shoulder twice, touching it softly like it might shatter under his trailing fingertips. Either way, something is different tonight.

The first press of his lips to Louis’ is nothing special, just a dry, unmoving contact.

Harry can feel Louis’ breath on his cheek, eyes wide while his lips disengage slowly, mechanically.

 _Everything_ is different tonight.

Because tonight it’s not just in Harry’s mind, tonight he fucked up, mixed fantasy with reality. And before he can do _anything_ but realise that, Louis is already pulling back. He’s no longer smiling, a frown knitting his eyebrows together. He opens his mouth and Harry flinches, can just imagine the _what are you doing_ or the _we are friends, Hazza._

But nothing follows, Louis just looks on silently -- _Louis_ who’s never silent -- doesn’t say a word. Something cold slides down Harry’s spine and takes root in his heart, clenches and spreads. This isn’t fear he’s feeling, this is mind-numbing, teeth-grinding terror.

Louis gets up and walks to the door on silent feet, and Harry’s heart shatters into a thousand pieces from all the pressure around it. There’s the hot sensation of tears welling up, the lump in his throat that has him gasping for air.

He’s done it now, fucked everything up. And his whole world crumbles instantaneously, not only the present but the future as well.

All of his hopes and dreams out the window. All for a stupid, clumsy kiss, dry and unsatisfying. He should have stopped himself, should have protected what they had, like he’d done a thousand times before. Should have watched Louis date other guys, should have returned to their dorm room to find a tie around the doorknob, should have spent those nights on the common room sofa. It wouldn’t have been easy but Harry would have managed. He’s done so before, he could do it again.

Anything, _anything_ is better than losing Louis over a silly schoolboy’s kiss. Anything is better than the sheer abyss he finds himself in front of now, the ache in his heart because he already misses him fiercely.

A familiar sound rips him out of his thoughts. Louis is by the now-locked door, eyes on Harry while his fingers still rest on the doorknob.

“What -- uhm. What’re you doing?”

Louis moves back onto the bed, crowding Harry against the wall, and Harry’s legs shake, like his mind is still catching up and in the meantime his muscles have just decided to go on strike. And Louis _smiles_ , eyes full of life, frightening and exciting all at once. “You looked uncomfortable. Don’t want you to worry about someone interrupting.”

“I… what?”

“Catch up then, Hazza, ‘m waiting,” Louis murmurs like he’s done a hundred times before, when Harry is falling behind because he finds a flower he needs to photograph, when he misses his cue for a joke and delivers the punch line too late. But Louis never seems to mind, just waits patiently for Harry’s dumb brain to catch up.

He entertains himself now by reaching out and gently prying Harry’s bottom lip from between his teeth. Harry lets him, staring uncomprehendingly because _they don’t do this._ “You did just kiss me, didn’t you? Didn’t imagine that?”

Louis laughs when Harry’s cheeks burn uncontrollably, a high, tinkling sound, happy and only slightly mocking. This at least is something he’s used to.

The press of Louis’ lips on his own is decidedly not and Harry freezes up, lips locked.

“Thought you wanted to?” Louis whispers, warm and solid where he’s leaning over him.

And he does, he _does_ , so fucking much. It’s just all a bit sudden, not taking the last year into account, his head swirling from differentiating dream from fact, so busy with that he can’t seem to concentrate on what’s actually happening. “Dunno how,” Harry whispers back, the butterflies tickling his throat.

He feels Louis smirk against his lips, feels Louis’ hand grip his shoulder and guide him onto his back. And then he feels every inch of Louis’ body where it’s pressing his own into the mattress. “Now that’s a lie,” Louis says easily, shifting on top of him as he settles in. “I’ve heard the stories of what your tongue can do. Cassie liked to brag.”

Cassie had been Harry’s first steady girlfriend right up until he’d met Louis. His weekends -- weekdays even -- were suddenly full of nothing _but_ Louis _._ And it hadn’t seemed right to spend his time with his best friend instead of his girlfriend, so Harry broke it off without any heartache at all, happy to hole up for yet another weekend with Louis.

Before he can come up with a response Louis leans down for another kiss. It’s chaste again and Harry might actually cry if _this is it_ , if for some miracle kissing Louis is now a thing but it ends up only as exciting as a peck from his fourth grade crush. He feels Louis’ ribcage expand when he carefully runs his hands over his back, watches his mouth open on a soft exhale.

The first touch of tongue to tongue is weirdly dry and somehow wrong. But before the panic can settle in his chest Louis tilts his head and everything slots into place, the kiss now hot and slow and so, so right.

He feels the tug on his roots as Louis cards through his hair, fingertips dragging over his scalp and making him gasp into the kiss. It’s all a bit surreal, the thought _I’m kissing Louis_ on repeat in his head, his emotions so jumbled he doesn’t even try at untangling them right now. Instead he clutches Louis closer, fingers spreading over the small of his back and catching the heat pooling there, the addictive movements.

Louis groans, hips snapping forward and Harry almost giggles, warmth spreading through him because Louis wants this too and that’s as exciting as the fact itself. Boldened, he pulls back, smiling. “Haven’t even reached your bum yet.”

Louis nudges him with his nose. “Probably can’t find it with your big clumsy hand.”

“Heeey,” Harry says, dragging the word out. He doesn’t even mind the mocking tone, enamoured by any kind of attention from Louis. “Can too.”

Louis raises his eyebrow, just how Harry hoped he would. “I’m waiting.” Harry slides his palm further down, right over the curve of one generous cheek. There’s no mucking about, just Harry grabbing onto a handful and squeezing. His spine tingles at how rough he’s being, wouldn’t dare be this way with a girl. But Louis isn’t a girl; arches into it and rolls his hips in a display of eagerness.

That lopsided smile flits over his lips and Harry knows he managed to surprise him.

Harry’s reward comes in the form of a leg between his thighs, dragging from his knees slowly up until it’s nestled in nice and tight. There’s no time to feel awkward about having a boner, because -- and that’s new -- Louis has one too; it’s right there for Harry to feel. And that knowledge is maybe a bit much, forcing a sharp sound from Harry as his head falls onto the pillow.

Louis’ laugh spills into Harry’s mouth and they just stare while he gently brushes a hand over Harry’s brow, like calming a startled animal. “Okay there? You sound like you’re dying.”

And yeah okay, Harry _knows_ he makes weird noises when he’s turned on. It’s probably a byproduct of getting to wank in an empty house after school, when his mum is still at work and Gemma is out with her friends.

He blushes again, wonders if he’s too loud, if it’s really too much or if Louis is just needling him for a reaction. Louis is always ready to unbalance him, to question his habits and mock his behaviour. Harry likes to think he gives as good as he gets in those scenarios, at least holding his own when he’s unable to up the ante.

And right now Louis is towering over him, every line in his body a challenge, every raised eyebrow and taunting word designed to force Harry into action instead of reaction. He often asks himself why Louis even hangs out with him, why he’s chosen him as a friend but he knows it’s at least partly because he’ll always rise to Louis’ bait, will find creative ways to impress him when challenged.

And so Harry flips them, because everything will shift the moment Harry is the one controlling this, surely it has to. The smooth move in his head -- where he’d picked Louis up by the hips, chucked him onto his back and rolled on top of him with the same momentum -- doesn’t quite pan out. It's a tangle of limbs instead, with an elbow to the ribs for Harry somehow and Louis actually being the one to pull Harry on top of _him._

“Smooth,” Louis says, his tone not having changed with his position.

Harry frowns because that’s not how this was supposed to go, but then Louis spreads his legs and Harry doesn’t see _that_ coming either. Not until his hips are nestled between Louis’ thighs and there’s a low current shooting up his spine, the hair on his neck standing on end.

Instincts take over and he pulls his knees up slightly, just enough for leverage, and then he’s thrusting, rubbing clothed dick against clothed dick. It’s good, no, fantastic and Louis makes this sound at the back of his throat, all high and _desperate_ , and Harry has to lean down to suck on his neck, feel it vibrating against his lips.

Louis hooks his legs behind Harry’s back and cards his fingers through his curls, holding on for dear life while Harry ruts against him desperately. “Always were a quick study,” he pants into Harry’s ear. “Once you caught on.”

And Harry should just take the compliment, only he doesn’t, says “‘s not so different from what I did with girls,” instead, just as his dick slides perfectly along Louis’, belying his statement completely.

“Did this with your girlfriends a lot, did you?” Louis breathes into his ear, lips brushing over delicate skin when Harry’s movement jarrs them both. “Came in your pants when you humped them dry?”

Harry bites Louis’ neck because he doesn’t _want_ to tell him to stop talking -- it’s far too hot -- but he still has to admonish Louis for his blatant manipulation _somehow_. He also has to stop soon because he’s close, just one more thrust, one more. When he finally does pull back it’s with a rough jolt that he sits up, hands on Louis’ knees so his legs won’t slip. And then. And then his dick not only aches from the loss of friction but also from the view itself; Louis spread out on his bed, shirt mussed and sliding up over his belly, a flush on his cheeks and his hair stuck to his forehead. The dim table lamp accentuates his sharply delicate features and brings a warm twinkle to his unfocused eyes, his pupils blown wide.

Harry longs for a camera, the ability to draw, _anything_ to immortalise this moment in time.

With a hand that hardly shakes at all he reaches out, fingers clumsy on Louis’ fly, manages the button on the second try.

Louis just lies still for once, watching through bedroom eyes, sharp white teeth tugging his lip.

Harry had hoped to give a witty retort, something about his ability in bed, the fact that he doesn’t lack experience only experience with boys.

But suddenly he can’t because he really has no idea what he’s doing and it’s making his movements jerky, unsure and young.

He’s never been with a boy, never touched one before. Definitely no one like Louis who not only has experience but who also means more than just another body, just another orgasm.

“Look at you, all skittish,” Louis murmurs in a voice Harry has never heard him use before, but wants to hear until he dies. “Need some help?”

Harry bites his lip and nods, feels the curls bouncing on the top of his head.

Louis deftly unzips and pushes down his jeans as far as they will go, eyes never leaving Harry’s face. “Take over when you want,” he says softly just before his eyes slip shut.

He’s palming himself, pumping slowly so Harry can see the tip of his cock between the ring of his fingers, sees him pulling back the foreskin and exposing the head before he moves back up again. Harry’s mouth waters at the sight like an instinctual response, both overwhelming and familiar at once.

And suddenly he doesn’t care about his experience or lack thereof, wants this because it’s fascinating, it’s right, it’s _Louis_.

He tugs Louis’ hand free and wraps his fingers around him instead, fascinated by the feel of his cock. “It’s different,” he murmurs, sounding amazed even to his own ears. “But also kind of the same.”

Louis arches when he squeezes harder, pants, “definitely not the same from this end.”

Harry smiles at him, feels giddy with it. Every moan Louis makes is new information to commit to memory, the way his legs are still wrapped around Harry’s hips, with how he’s just _displaying_ himself like he’s not ashamed one bit, like this is exactly where he wants to be. It’s raw and honest and Harry falls in love with it, wants more, wants to give Louis the world in exchange. “What do you like?”

Louis splutters a laugh, stretching his hand out to free Harry’s bottom lip from between his teeth again. “This, Curly. I like this.”

Harry lets the tips of his fingers drift down until he’s gently cupping Louis’ balls, giving them a soft squeeze. “No. I meant how do you wank yourself.”

“Just like that,” Louis says, struggling to open his eyes, adding dazedly, “finger myself sometimes.”

Harry stops, looks down at Louis with wide eyes. But Louis doesn’t answer, huffs instead and shifts his hips like the slide of Harry’s hand is more important than an explanation. “Do you... uhm, do you want me to?”

Louis sighs, dramatic, and it reminds Harry of when they order pizza and the delivery takes longer than promised. Louis always acts like the extra ten minutes might kill him, much to Harry’s entertainment. “Don’t care. Just as long as it makes me come. Will do it myself, if you don’t want to.”

“Wanna watch you,” Harry says, already imagining it. He slides his palm up the length of Louis’ erection, not wrapping his fingers around it, not yet giving Louis what he wants. “But -- maybe later? Maybe now -- what you said before?”

Louis looks at him for a long moment and Harry can’t read him at all, doesn’t know what Louis is thinking because this is all _new_. It makes him jittery, makes him want to scratch at his skin and straighten his back, avoid Louis’ gaze boring into him.

Louis moves up and off the bed and before Harry’s heart can sink Louis shimmies out of his clothes. His movements are sure and quick, tinged with impatience and there’s the distinct sound of a thread tearing in the collar of his shirt. “Get undressed,” Louis says, off-handedly, like Harry just gets naked in front of boys he likes all the time.

It’s a moot point anyway because once Louis chucks his last article of clothing all Harry can do is stare. Louis has two years on him, two years spent on the pitch and in the school gym to increase his core strength and endurance, all in the name of footie. Two extra years in which to get rid of the baby fat that still sits around Harry’s hips and belly.

While Louis is rummaging through Harry’s bedside drawer, Harry takes in his shapely legs, the play of muscles in his back as he reaches for something. The way his arse looks. Louis makes a triumphant sound as he extracts it from Harry’s dresser before shoving the drawer closed and kneeling down. He’s going through his own bag now -- thrown carelessly onto the floor when he’d barged in earlier. 

And then he’s crawling back onto the bed with two items clutched in his hand, a slight frown line appearing when he sees Harry’s slack-jawed expression. “Hey,” he says gently, dropping whatever he just retrieved to cup Harry’s jaw. “Hazza? We don’t have to do anything. It’s fine. We can just kiss again.”

Harry shakes his head, swallows loudly. “Want to, uhm, do that. But I. Can I keep my clothes on?”

Louis laughs easily, like he’s genuinely surprised at that comment. “What’s wrong, you got that weird rash again?”

“No,” Harry mumbles, wishing he’d just taken off his shirt and not drawn attention to it. He isn’t shy about his body, knows he looks good in most aspects. But the comparison to others is what gets him. Like Charlie, one of the defenders on Louis’ footie team whose broad and huge, more man than boy. Louis hooked up with him a few times while telling his parents he’d stay over at Harry’s, only to sneak in late each time, climb into Harry’s bed and whisper secrets into his shoulder. Harry never responded, unsure to this day if Louis even knew he was awake. Harry is nothing like Charlie, who _certainly_ doesn’t have any baby fat around his middle.

It’s a slow kiss that follows, completely initiated by Louis, unassuming and so, so gentle. Harry appreciates that, feels like at least he can be honest. “I’m -- I mean I’m not fit. Not like the --” _the boys you usually date_ , he thinks and doesn’t add.

Comprehension dawns on Louis’ face and he shuffles closer to nip at Harry’s lip. His hands slide under Harry’s shirt and along his stomach. “But I’ve seen you shirtless countless of times, Haz. You’re gorgeous.” He squeezes the fleshiest part around his middle. His mouth slides down Harry’s throat, worrying skin with teeth. When he looks up again he’s almost frantic, his fingers digging in roughly while he stares Harry down. “Wanna bite your love handles, wanna suck bruises into them, poke at them tomorrow. Hold onto them while --” he breaks off like he’s censoring himself, removes Harry’s shirt slowly instead, hands dragging over bare skin to settle on his hips. “No idea how sexy you already are, Curly. And you haven’t even reached your apex yet. People will be putty in your hands once you realise.”

Harry isn’t all that sure about that but refrains from commenting. He isn’t even sure why he’s being this shy, it’s never been an issue before. He’d been the one in charge with his girlfriends, eager and ready to make the first move. But then he hadn’t ever liked anyone the way he likes Louis, this maddening mix of trying to please, and possessive thoughts, of needing Louis all to himself and wanting him so desperately his chest aches.

A soft tug on the waistband of his jeans makes him look down. “Wanna leave these on?” Louis asks, one finger stealing beneath the waistband. Harry shakes his head because that’s the _last_ thing he wants. “Well up you get then.”

He does but leans down for another kiss to soothe his nerves, shifting his attention from himself to Louis.

There’s a filthy grin on Louis’ lips when the denim slides down Harry’s legs. It gets caught around his knees but Louis doesn’t seem to care, trails his palm down the front of Harry’s pants. “D’you want to take these -- jesus _fuck.”_ Louis widens his eyes almost comically as his fingers explore the hard length of Harry’s dick through his underwear. He actually pulls back the rubber band to have a peek inside. “It’s all an act, right? All this talk about being naked. It’s because people would jump your bones, because you, Curly, you are _hung_.”

“I like being naked,” he confesses because his mind feels frozen and he can’t think of anything else. “Like a lot. Mum thinks I should live in a nudist place. It just, uhm, feels nice.”

“I’d have remembered,” Louis murmurs while wrapping his fingers around Harry’s dick, “if you’d ever freed that thing around me.”

He squeezes and Harry gasps, almost pitching forward onto the bed, legs still trapped in his jeans. “Couldn’t be naked around you,” Harry grits out. Louis isn’t teasing, he’s wanking him good and hard and Harry was ready to come about ten minutes ago. “You’d have spotted the boners.”

Louis laughs again, high and free. Harry surges forward to catch the trail of that laugh, wants to hear it every day for the rest of his life maybe. Louis pushes him back gently, enough so he can drop to his knees and Harry tries very hard not to hyperventilate. He settles in comfortably, unrushed even when he looks up and asks, “had lots of blowies, have you?”

Harry’s eyes widen because of course he’d _hoped_ from the moment Louis’ knees hit the ground. He shakes his head, as much to clear it as a way to answer. “Cassie tried, but uhm. It was -- uhm, she couldn’t. You know.”

That makes Louis grin even wider. “Well,” he says, right against the tip of Harry’s dick. Harry shivers, hard. “I’m up for the challenge.”

And then he opens his mouth and wraps his lips around Harry’s cock. It’s tight and wet all on its own, but Louis swirls his tongue and _sucks_. He bobs his head too, taking more and more each time. And this is embarrassing, definitely a reason to work on his stamina because he can already feel his orgasm creeping up on him. “Louis I - I.”

Louis pulls back with a loud pop and wanks him off in long, even strokes. “You know what,” he says, running his tongue along the underside, like he can’t bear not feeling Harry’s cock against his lips. “I don’t think you’ve earned coming in my mouth yet.”

Unsurprisingly, that’s what pushes Harry over the edge. Because of course his mind immediately switches to all the things he could do for Louis to earn that right. Several deep pulses have him shuddering, hands balled into fists at his side. True to his word, Louis only lets him come in his hand, wipes it clean on Harry’s underwear the moment he’s done. Harry would complain if he wasn’t still wrecked with aftershocks, if he didn’t know how to wash his own laundry and if he actually had any fucks to give right now.

There’s more kissing -- mostly Louis, and more panting -- mostly Harry. Nimble fingers push at his clothes and body alike until Harry finds himself on the bed kneeling between Louis’ spread thighs again, his secret tube of lube pressed into his hand, the one he keeps hidden behind his journal for when he draws out his wank.

He doesn’t even ask how Louis knew about it, just stares, blinking slowly.

“You’re not one of those guys who falls asleep right after coming, are you?” Louis jokes, but there’s a note to his tone that sets Harry on edge. “Leave me to finish myself?”

And suddenly, desperately, Harry wants to find every guy Louis has slept with and kick their combined arses. “No,” he assures quickly, shaking his head in emphasis. “I just. I’m not really sure how to do this.”

“Just… just spread some lube on your finger and push it in. And go slow, especially when you add more fingers.”

And okay, Harry might pass out after all. Because now he’s imagining himself with more than one finger _inside Louis’ arsehole_ , and that’s definitely enough to take his breath away. But he nods like that’s something he’s totally up for and squirts lube onto his fingers.

Personal experience has taught him it’s cold enough to be jarring at first so he pushes it around to warm it up -- and then he just keeps doing that.

“Harry?” Louis looks unsure suddenly, unsure and desperate. Gone is the self-confident, bordering on cocky best friend. There’s a set to his eyebrows that indicates his struggle between gratification and Harry’s uncomfortableness. And maybe, Harry realises, he isn’t the only one having difficulty to adjust to this, maybe he isn’t the only one faced with something new.

“Sorry,” Harry murmurs and lets his lubed fingers slide along Louis’ crack, clearing his mind to steady his hand. The tip of one finger gently brushes Louis’ hole and Louis sighs, spreads his thighs wider.

“Please don’t tease me, Haz --” Louis says in another tone of voice Harry has never heard before. It’s pleading and desperate, and maybe like he’d agree to anything if Harry just asked. “-- not today.”

In all honesty, teasing Louis isn’t really something Harry had been aware of even being an option. When be thought of Louis _like that_ they’d both be gasping, every move calculated to reach the goal of coming. But at Louis’ words Harry’s imagination goes into overdrive, explores an entire new field of possibilities and he pushes forward without thinking, finger sliding in easily.

While the slide is easy, the heat and pressure is something else entirely. Louis’ cock twitches where it’s resting on his belly and Harry watches it avidly as he pulls his finger back out.

“Does it really feel good?” he asks, even though the evidence would definitely suggest so.

“Nrgh,” Louis garbles, closing his eyes when Harry pushes back in slowly. “Yes. _Yes_.”

Harry starts on an uneven rhythm, still amazed at how easily his finger seems to fit, how tight it is regardless. Then he remembers something, from one of the night's Louis had snuck back into Harry’s house in the early morning hours, buzzing and talkative. “Am I hitting your prostate?”

Louis lets out a weird hybrid between a chuckle and a groan. “Not yet, baby. Not yet.”

Harry frowns. “But then, how does it feel good?”

“Have you ever -- ah. Fingered a girl? Rubbed her clit?” Harry nods and Louis continues. “Well the arsehole has like --” he squeezes his eyes closed and arches, tightening around Harry’s finger like just talking gets him hot. “The highest concentration of nerve endings after that.”

Harry nods. That does sound like it’d feel good. “I’ve never tried it before. On myself, I mean. Or anyone else. Well, besides you. Right now.”

Louis chuckles and Harry even feels _that_. Which of course leads him to think about what it’d feel like to replace his finger with his cock. The pressure would be insane, but if Louis tightened around him like that…

“Add another one,” Louis half tells and half begs him. Harry complies, going slow at first, waiting for Louis’ responses -- an arched back here, a whimper there -- all the while wondering if Louis is always this pushy during sex (he is in most other walks of live) or if that begging tone comes more natural in situations like these, if he could exacerbate it with his own actions.

He doesn’t though, not now. Now he waits for Louis to ask for the third finger, amazed at how that one slides in just like the others even though it’s all much tighter now. But Louis’ moans turn guttural at the stretch alone.

“Can you -- ah. Can you crook your fingers? Should hit my prostate --” Louis cuts off with a whine when Harry obeys, finds the right angle almost immediately. It’s amazing because Louis’ cock doesn’t just twitch but actually dribbles out a steady stream of precome, pooling on Louis’ tanned stomach and making Harry’s own dick twitch.

He’s gripping the sheets tightly now, bowing his back in an inverted U, whining while throwing his head back and forth. Harry isn’t quite prepared for the strength of his reaction but he keeps aiming at his prostate anyway, keeps watching Louis lose all semblance of control and something, somewhere in the depth of himself, clicks into place. He could do this every day for the rest of his life and still not have enough of it, would still wonder about that noise Louis makes even seconds after he did.

“Harry. Harry, Harry. Haz.” Louis is frantic, eyes unfocused and heavy. Harry shushes him gently and leans down for a slow kiss but Louis is pressing something into his hand, his breathing still erratic. “Want you to fuck me. Please. Is that -- is that okay?”

Harry almost laughs, because that sounds like he thinks Harry might not want to, like he hasn’t dreamed of this very moment for _months_. He looks down at the condom in his hand then back up at Louis still clutching the sheets, keeping his hands away from his cock. And suddenly, all he wants to do is make Louis come, preferably with his cock buried deep inside. He stops thinking then, lets some other part of his brain take over.

And the first thing he does then, is give Louis a fourth finger.

Louis whines at the stretch, eyes flying open as he screws his body down for more, like he’s desperate for it. “You sure?” Harry asks and his voice is different somehow. He sounds almost like he’s flirting and he doesn’t even know where it’s coming from only that it makes Louis’ eyelids flutter and he wants more of it. “My dick’s gonna fill you up far more than my fingers.”

“Yesss,” Louis hisses out between his teeth. He looks frantic now, a hectic flush on his cheek as he claws at Harry’s back, the sting of his fingernails awakening that primal part in Harry further, giving it more leeway.

“Gonna fuck you,” Harry promises. He twists his fingers slowly, teasing Louis and avoiding his prostate. And Louis arches, bares his neck and Harry bites down on it carefully, sucking the spot when Louis cries out. “Can you -- can you come without touching yourself?”

“Yeah. Yeah,” Louis slurs. “Gonna come on your cock.”

And shit, yes. His breathing turns erratic at the mere thought, getting worse when he leans back and watches avidly as he pulls his fingers free. He’s shaking just a bit, wasting precious seconds trying to open the foil packet and rolling the condom down his dick. Even though he’s already come, he fears this might still be a rather short event.

He stalls just long enough for Louis to reach down and line him up, murmuring, “don’t make me wait any longer,” before nodding at Harry with his bottom lip caught between his teeth. This time it’s Harry who reaches up and tugs it free, sucks it into his mouth as he pushes forward.

At the first breach Louis grunts, whimpers like he’s in pain. Harry stops moving, peppering kisses all over Louis’ face, distracting him with his tongue for long moments.

He grips onto Louis’ hips, continues to push in as Louis writhes against him. The tightness is indescribable and he still tells Louis all about it, whispers it into his throat like a prayer until he bottoms out, can’t talk after that.

If pulling out makes Louis’ breath catch in the back of his throat, pushing back in rips desperate sounds from him. He’s loud so Harry slides one large hand over Louis’ mouth, rocking into him with more of a rhythm now.

“The others will hear you,” he whispers when Louis nips at his palm, the look in his eyes positively filthy. So Harry angles his hips and thrusts _up_ on the next stroke. Louis howls, muffled against Harry’s palm, nails scratching mercilessly down Harry’s back. “Gonna fuck you again,” Harry tells him, pleased to see Louis hang onto his every word. “When no one is home. Wanna see how loud you’ll scream.”

Louis tightens around him and Harry snaps forward mindlessly, revelling in the slap of skin on skin, in the way Louis is reduced to another muffled whimper. Harry has seen him sleepy before, and even drunk once or twice. But nothing has relaxed Louis enough to let go quite like this and Harry feels warmth spill through his chest at that realisation. “So gorgeous,” Harry tells him honestly, pulling his hand down to replace it with his lips. “Perfect.”

“Gonna come,” Louis says in a voice so wrecked Harry almost does too, just from that.

“Yeah, want you to.” He nuzzles the side of Louis’ face, their cheeks sliding against each other from the force of his thrusts. “Wanna feel you come on my cock. Gonna make me come from that.”

Louis arches, freezes there. Harry does feel it on his cock first, when Louis tightens up so he can hardly thrust at all. Louis come is warm and wet between them and Harry makes sure to rub their bellies together, smearing it around as he fucks Louis through his orgasm. He leans back to see the mess they’ve made and it’s accidental when he slides over Louis’ prostate. It forces another thin stream of come from Louis’ cock and Harry does it again, just to feel Louis tighten around him, hear him whimper and dribble out some more.

The moment Louis melts boneless into the mattress, something snaps inside of Harry and he drives in two more times, shudders and comes for a second time that evening.

He slumps forward, eliciting another grunt from Louis. Their breathing is heavy, erratic, Harry has no idea how long he stays there, cradled between Louis’ thighs and with his fingers gently stroking down his back. Louis is murmuring something, has been for a while, but it still takes Harry a moment to tune his ears back in.

“Such a natural, Curly. Always thought you might be.” He kisses Harry’s temple and he can feel him grin against his skin. “Got quite the mouth on you, too.”

Harry hides his face in Louis’ neck, cheeks burning while he shushes him through a wide grin. “Don’t.”

Louis snorts. “Why not? I like teasing my sleepy boyfriend. You better get used to it.”

Harry swallows heavily. “Boyfriend?”

“Okay,” Louis says, more to himself than Harry. He pushes against Harry’s chest, making him lie back flat on his back. Harry watches Louis remove the condom for him and it’s -- weirdly not weird at all, just kind of nice the way Louis is making sure he’s comfortable right now.

When he’s done he lies down right on top of Harry, kissing him long and deep. “Okay, so here’s the deal. We had sex because I want to be your boyfriend. This wasn’t some whim. I’m sorry if that wasn’t clear but that also makes you kind of an idiot.”

Harry can feel the grin splitting his face, the muscles in his cheeks actually hurting. “Yeah?”

Louis nods sagely. “You really are an idiot, yes.”

Harry slaps his shoulder at that, but only gently. “You really wanna be my boyfriend?”

Louis gives him another peck and speaks against his lips, voice hushed and eyes closed. “I’ve wanted to be your boyfriend for almost a year now.”

That makes Harry pause. “What?”

Louis rolls his eyes, sitting up and cocking his head to the side. “Well I wasn’t spending all my time with you because of your stellar conversation skills. I mean, the morbid tone is kinda fun, but that’s not why I stuck around.”

It feels like Harry’s brain is coming out of his ears, liquified by the new information. “Why then?” he croaks out.

“Had a crush on you, didn’t I? Those don’t have to make sense. I mean, you aren’t all that much to look at.”

That, weirdly enough is what draws Harry out of his stupor. He thinks back to the hundreds, _thousands_ of times Louis has commented on how he loves Harry’s hair, his dimples, when he smiles widely.

“You like me,” he says and his tone turns accusing. “You never said!”

Louis tries to squirm off but Harry grabs his hips and sits up too, wraps his arms around Louis to keep him in place. They stare at each other while the tension ratchets up, mood ready to topple onto either side.

Harry curls in against Louis’ chest, feels Louis’ arms around his back.

“You should’ve said,” he murmurs into his skin. “I had this huge crush on you for _ages._ ”

“I know,” Louis murmurs, stroking his hair.

“What do you mean _‘you know’_? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Louis shushes him, his hand trailing down Harry’s back and over his arse. “Didn’t wanna pressure you, did I?”

Louis’ finger slips into the crease just at the top of Harry’s bum and Harry hums. Louis smiles at him cheekily.

“Had to wait for you to catch up.”

**Author's Note:**

> → [tumblr post](http://karamelised.tumblr.com/post/135497765037/make-the-wait-worth-your-while).
> 
> I am still figuring out how to structure fic properly and have more of a problem with short stories it seems. 
> 
> Let me know in the comments what you thought of the overall structure and maybe your favourite part, too, it helps me a lot.
> 
> For the prompt:  
> Louis and Harry are friends, both high school age. They are very close, but haven't hooked up or anything yet bc they're both closeted and too nervous or whatever. One night, Louis' homophobic parents find something in Louis' room or on his computer or something, like gay porn or something, and get so mad at Louis. So Louis runs away to Harry's house and they fool around in bed that night.


End file.
